Emotional Range of a Teaspoon
by Spiralling-Down
Summary: Fifty prompts and fifty drabbles, covering Ron and Hermione's ever-changing relationship, right from their first year at Hogwarts to their deaths. The drabbles are unrelated but in chronological order. Written for the OTP Boot Camp on HPFC.
1. Drawn

**Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. I definitely do not. *Cries.*  
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**Author's Note: These drabbles are written primarily for the OTP Boot Camp. The title of each chapter will be the prompt that it was based off. There may also be other challenges worked in. By the way, just warning you now, the vast majority of these will be happy, because I CAN'T BEAR TO WRITE ROMIONE IN A NEGATIVE WAY, OK? OK. All right, I've calmed down now. Sorry. Now, without further ado, let's get on with the story! :P**

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Hermione was bent over a cracked sink in the girls' bathroom, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs as her tears splashed into the basin. She looked up into the mirror, studying her face carefully; pale, drawn and red-eyed from crying. So this was how she looked to other people. A bushy-haired, rabbit-toothed know-it-all... who apparently wasn't worth befriending.

"_She's a nightmare, honestly! It's no wonder she hasn't got any friends."_

She couldn't deny it; that had stung. Especially coming from Ronald Weasley, out of all the people in Hogwarts. If it had been Draco Malfoy, or even Lavender Brown, she could have coped with it, maybe even laughed it off at a stretch. But if she was totally honest with herself, she had hoped that maybe, possibly, once they'd got to know each other a little better, she and Ron could have been friends. Maybe. He'd seemed nice enough when he was with Harry on the Hogwarts Express, although he hadn't really talked to _her_. And just after Charms, she'd been trying to work up the courage to talk to the two boys, until she'd overheard their conversation…

So apparently she was a nightmare. A friendless, bossy nightmare.

At least _she _could pronounce 'Wingardium Leviosa'. That had to be something. Right?

It wasn't even fair – she'd only been trying to help Ron out! How did he expect to learn if he couldn't take her advice without being personally offended? If their positions had been reversed, Hermione would have been delighted to receive his help if it meant she could learn to cast a new spell. She supposed Ron just didn't care as much as she did, seeing as he was from a Pureblood family and had grown up with magic. To him, it didn't have the novelty that so enthralled Hermione.

She just couldn't learn enough about the new life she'd been plunged into! One minute she was a normal girl – at least, normal enough – and the next, she was being told she was a witch. She'd been only too happy to accept this new turn of events, and the new school she'd be attending. In the Muggle world, she'd never really had any friends to speak of. She assumed her Muggle classmates had been scared off, perhaps even repulsed, by the strange things that happened around her. They could recognise her as something out-of-the-ordinary, and it frightened them. Their natural reaction was to back away and keep their distance from the odd, bookish girl, who'd sit in the corner with her nose buried deeply in a novel, trying to escape into a different world.

And then, that escape route she'd been so longing for, for so many years, had opened up. Suddenly, everything seemed to make sense, and Hermione had found somewhere where she would finally fit in. She just couldn't have been happier – she wasn't a freak after all, and now she would find friends of her own kind!

It was just a shame that dreams never seemed to work out as you expected them to.

She supposed she was foolish to have pinned her hopes so firmly on Ron Weasley.


	2. Into the Fire

**Disclaimer: It all belongs to JK Rowling. I haven't got the talent to create these characters and this world!**

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Hermione set the round flask back on the table and turned towards the doorway, which was blocked off by purple flames. She shuddered; the potion she had just swallowed felt like ice spreading through her body, freezing her from the inside out. It was an unpleasant sensation, but it was nothing compared to the fear she felt for Harry. She spared one last glance for her friend, who was examining his own tiny bottle of potion. She hoped with all her might that he would manage to stay safe and prevent Snape from stealing the Philosopher's Stone. She only wished she could go with him, but for now, the most she could do to help him was to find Dumbledore, before it was too late.

Hermione took a deep breath and walked into the fire. For a second, the only thing she could see was the deep violet blaze leaping around her, as cool tongues of flame licked about her sides. Then her feet touched cold stone again, and she stepped out into the giant chess room.

Instantly, Hermione dashed over to the wall, where Ron was slumped on the ground, still unconscious. His face was deathly pale, his breathing shallow, and there was a large lump forming on his head where he'd been attacked by the queen. Hermione knelt down at his side, fear clogging her throat. What if he was seriously hurt? What if she couldn't wake him up? She didn't think she could bear to leave him here alone, so vulnerable, while she went for Dumbledore. He was her best friend, and if she couldn't help Harry, she had to at least do her best to help Ron.

Hermione raised a trembling hand and gently brushed Ron's red hair off of his forehead before settling back against the wall. She moved her hand to clasp his, her thumb rubbing small circles over his palm as she tried to calm herself. He looked so still, almost unnaturally so… For a couple of minutes, Hermione sat there watching her friend, her heart pounding at twice its normal speed, almost as if it was trying to beat for both of them. But then, suddenly, Ron stirred. He let out a faint groan, and blinked a few times.

"Hermione?" he mumbled.

"Ron! Are you all right?"

Ron rubbed his head, wincing slightly. "Being a knight, with or without shining armour, is overrated," he said. There was a pause, and then- "Hermione, why are you holding my hand?"

Hermione flushed pink and promptly dropped Ron's hand, as he smirked at her. She avoided eye contact with him, instead staring down at her own knees in mortification. However, after a few seconds in which an awkward silence hung between the two of them, something snapped inside her. Hermione pulled Ron into a tight hug, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

"Don't you dare frighten me like that again, you prat!" she said, her voice muffled.

Ron let out a croaking sound. "Hermione! Can't – breathe."

"Oh, just be quiet."


	3. Calm

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry about the wait, guys! *Hangs head in shame* Hopefully you won't have to wait this long again!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, his world or the characters who come with him.**

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Ron pushed through the door of the Hospital Wing, his heart thumping at almost twice its normal speed as he followed Harry into the room. That had been a very narrow escape from Professor McGonagall; he hated to imagine what kind of punishment she would have doled out for being out in the grounds unaccompanied, if she hadn't believed that Ron and Harry were just trying to visit their petrified friend.

Biting his lip, Ron looked over at Hermione's bed, which was blocked from his view by the hangings. He stepped over towards it and pushed the curtains back, but he nearly recoiled again at the sight that awaited him. Hermione lay completely motionless, one hand outstretched on the mattress in front of her, her fingers still curled stiffly in the air, as if she had just been reaching out for something when the heir of Slytherin – whoever it was – had attacked her. Her bushy hair was tangled around her face, and her mouth was set in the determined expression that Ron knew so well and often associated with exam time stress. She seemed to be frozen in place, stuck irreversibly in one moment in time.

In fact, her features were so cold, so statue-like, that she barely even appeared to be-

She could almost be-

No, Ron couldn't bear to think of that. He turned away again, breathing rather more heavily than normal, and stared fixedly at the bedside table instead of Hermione's face, his jaw clenched. He could hear Harry in the background, explaining to Madame Pomfrey that they had Professor McGonagall's permission to be in the Hospital Wing, but he couldn't seem to pay attention to his best friend's words. Instead, images of Hermione's pale face and rigid body seemed to float in front of his mind's eye, until Ron just wanted to press his knuckles into his eyeballs and moan until the horrible pictures went away and left him in peace. He hadn't realised he would be so bothered by the sight of his friend until he got to the Hospital Wing and she was actually there, lying in front of him. He had expected her to look calm and serene, as if in she were just in a deep sleep. But instead, she was stiff and paralysed - she looked nowhere near as peaceful as Ron had hoped.

All he wanted was for her to be all right.

_Oh, shut up, Ron_, he thought irritably to himself. _Merlin, y__ou sound like some soppy girl._

He shook his head, wrenching himself back into reality, and forced himself to look back at Hermione. It wasn't like it was permanent, anyway. The Mandrake Restorative Draught would be ready soon, and then Hermione would be back to nag at him and Harry for not doing their homework on the evening it was set. (She never seemed to understand that they simply had better things to do than to write some bloody essay on the uses of dried nettles in potions!) He should just enjoy the freedom while it lasted. With a tiny smile, Ron leaned back in his chair. However, not a moment later, he had jerked back forwards so fast that his neck clicked painfully. He was staring hard at Hermione's left hand, which lay by her side. Clasped firmly between her fingers was a scrap of paper.

"Harry..." he said slowly, his previous worries forgotten.


End file.
